


millions and billions and trillions of stars (but i'm down here low)

by aroceu



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathroom Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/aroceu
Summary: ("Maybe it was a diversity thing," Mark says. "But so what?"Eduardo doesn't really reply, just says, "I'll let you know how the party is," before going back into the building, leaving Mark out in the cold.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> —except this time, Eduardo says, "Stay for the party," instead of going down the stairs. Mark furrows his eyebrows at him like Eduardo had just asked him to do a tremendous and inane task.
> 
> "Why?" he asks.
> 
> "Because it's cold outside," says Eduardo, "and there's a lot of alcohol inside. Besides, you can start on this website later. Tomorrow."
> 
> "Wardo," Mark says, frowning.
> 
> "It doesn't have to be tonight," Eduardo says pointedly. "And seriously, c'mon, this party is lame but it might be the last AEPi party I go to before the Phoenix."
> 
> It's a cheap tactic—Mark's shocked expression earlier, disguised hurt when Eduardo had first told him was easy to read, but Mark still sometimes goes to AEPi parties as long as Eduardo is there. Mark's expression twists mildly, but he says, "Fine," and follows Eduardo down the stairs back to the entrance.
> 
> "It probably was a diversity thing," Mark says, as Eduardo opens the door. "But so what?"
> 
> Eduardo ignores him, pushes the door open wider so Mark can get back inside without effort. They make their way back to Caribbean Night.
> 
> *
> 
> **Translated into Chinese[here](http://yexiu1113.lofter.com/post/1e21ac59_f788f5d)**

Mark’s gaze has been fixed on the loop of Niagara Falls for about five minutes now; Eduardo wonders if he’ll complain about it again. The red solo cup in his hand sloshes with the spiked punch. Eduardo wonders also if he should take it out of his hands, but a sober Mark likes his alcohol and a drunk Mark likes his alcohol even more. Eduardo has gone through multiple evenings in the past year battling Mark for bottle openers and another beer, laughing when Mark insists that he could totally handle more even though he’s a lightweight. It’s not like Eduardo’s any better, but at least he knows what self-control is.

Mark is either all in or all out. It’s one of the many things Eduardo admires about his best friend.

Of course, this means that on multiple occasions Eduardo has also laughed at Mark hunched over the toilet at four in the morning. But Mark had also done the same a couple of times, especially that one time when Eduardo was invited to a house party and had more jungle juice than was wise and totally underestimated the effect it would have on him. Mark laughed at him when he came into the Kirkland suite to crash, but he also stayed up with Eduardo all night.

Right now, Mark is staring at the tacky TV screens and absently humming. Eduardo can’t particularly tell if it’s to the music or something else entirely, but Eduardo’s also pretty drunk enough that his senses don’t feel as full-on mode as usual.

“Are you still thinking about your website idea?” Eduardo asks, leaning in a little in case Mark really has spaced out instead of calculating all the things wrong with this party.

Mark jolts, but shrugs at Eduardo. “Yeah,” he says. Then, randomly, “Sombreros aren’t really Caribbean-related either.”

“What?”

Mark lifts his hand, and pokes at the straw hat on Eduardo’s head that Eduardo had nearly forgotten about. “Sombrero,” Mark says, and Eduardo chuckles and ducks down.

“You’re right,” he says, looking at his sartorial choices. “Actually, Hawaiian shirts don’t have anything to do with the Caribbean either. It would’ve been more accurate for me to wear something from home.”

“Or from Miami,” Mark says, nodding. “Miami is closer to the Caribbean than Hawaii.”

Eduardo nudges him. “But we have to fit in with the aesthetic.”

That doesn’t mean much, since Mark is still in his ridiculous jeans and hoodie. Mark’s lips twitch and he says, “Yeah.” His eyes scan the room—Eduardo watches him, as Mark’s eyes go from DJ in the fucking lei, the poorly tressed tiki statues—which are horrendously irrelevant, too—and the Asian girls scattered around the room, now either dancing with the Jewish guys here or looking pretty content with themselves alone.

Mark’s eyes are lingering, so Eduardo says, “Hey, so—why did you come to me for the website help, anyway? It’s not like I’m an expert in entrepreneurship with internet ventures.” He stumbles over the last few words, the alcohol getting to him.

Mark furrows his eyebrows but turns to Eduardo anyway. “But you have the experience,” he says bluntly. “And the money.”

Eduardo hesitates. “I mean, that’s true,” he says. “You just came to me because I have the experience and money?”

Shrugging, Mark shifts from foot to foot. After a moment, where Eduardo is waiting for Mark to give him a real answer, Mark replies, “Because you’re my best friend, Wardo, do I really have to spell it out for you?” He says this all like he’s annoyed, but quick like he’s flustered and doesn’t want to admit it.

Eduardo grins at him anyway. “I’m your best friend?” he teases. “You want us to be best friends at the top of an internet monolith?”

“I—yes,” Mark says, turning away.

Eduardo elbows him, though, still grinning. When Mark refuses to look back at him, Eduardo says, “Mark,” and elbows him again.

The smile he gets back from Mark is brief, but full—and totally worth it.

“I don’t know why you’re teasing me, anyway,” Mark says stubbornly, though his tone is lighter. Alcohol makes him moody; Eduardo is used to it. “That one time when you came back from that frat party was when you told me that _I_ was the best friend you ever had.”

“We don’t talk about that night,” Eduardo says, laughing, moving to shove his hand into Mark’s face. Mark ducks easily, but he looks to be on the brink of laughter, too. “And clearly I’m masochistic or something.”

“Really,” Mark says dryly.

“Not really,” says Eduardo, though not with confidence. That’s not something he really—anyway. “If I recall correctly, you called me a baby at _least_ twice that night.”

“You were crying about your midterm grades when they hadn’t even been released yet,” Mark points out. “And you got perfect scores. You _are_ a baby.”

Eduardo nudges him again. “ _You’re_ a baby,” he says churlishly, teasingly.

They’re by the snack table, again, since Dustin had found an Asian girl to dance with badly (Dustin has two left feet, but it's part of his charm, or so he claims) and a nice Jewish boy had found Chris. Chris only sometimes comes to AEPi parties with them because he usually has gayer, more indulgent parties he could go to, ones that are actually fulfilling to his sex life. He and the boy are talking, though they’re clearly into each other. Eduardo may not crash at the Kirkland suite tonight.

He doesn’t mind lurking with Mark, though; it had started like this, anyway, a little over a year ago when Eduardo had seen Mark hunched over in the corner of the first AEPi party of the semester after a redheaded boy—Dustin—had quickly left him, and decided it would be better to rescue him from visible loneliness before it was too late. Of course, it had been an impulse decision, and Mark had been thrown off and slightly rude at first. But.

But he seemed helpless, and had curls that looked like copper twine, and he was so dry it was funny that Eduardo ended up chuckling at everything he said which had made Mark just stare at him like he’d grown a second head.

And they’re here now and Eduardo can remember all the times he’s crashed on Mark’s bed while Mark was up all night doing his OS homework or when Mark’s stormed into his dorm in Eliot saying, “I have an idea,” and work on something completely time-wasting for 72 hours.

Mark is humming to himself again, and Eduardo asks, “What is that?” Mark turns to him, squinting, and Eduardo clarifies, “You’re humming a song or something.”

“Oh.” Something like embarrassment passes over Mark’s face. “I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“You…” At a seeming loss for words, Mark looks Eduardo up and down, then out to the rest of the room, then kind of pokes Eduardo in the shoulder. “You’re just. The Phoenix.”

Eduardo watches him. “What about it?”

“I don’t know,” says Mark. “That’s—another club, and you’re not _really_ a part of the chess club, and AEPi—” He bites his lip.

And he’s not making any sense. “Mark, what is it?” says Eduardo. All his Mark-senses are going off, though it’s not that hard when Mark is much easier to read than he’ll ever claim himself to be. He looks troubled, and Eduardo forgives, _It was probably a diversity thing_ , a little, without even asking. Just a little.

“You’re,” Mark says. “You _deserve_ to be punched by the Phoenix, I just don’t understand if—how—and now I want you on for this website project, and—”

“I can multitask, Mark,” Eduardo says gently.

“ _I know you can_.” Mark is getting progressively more frustrated, and Eduardo can’t tell if he can’t find the words, or he wants to say as much as he can without actually talking about his feelings. “I didn’t actually mean the thing about the—diversity thing—well, maybe a little—”

“Mark—”

“I just think we—I mean, you should focus one thing at a time—you don’t _have_ to, god knows I don’t—but if there’s so much—”

“Mark—”

“Plus I know this is going to be a good idea, Wardo, it’s going to be a great idea, people are going to love it—”

“Mark!” Eduardo says sharply.

Mark goes silent.

Eduardo scans his face. Mark’s eyes are narrowed as usual, and so much talking has made his expression go all sullen, but there’s an anxiety hidden there too that Eduardo has seen when girls—or really, people—disregard Mark’s existence, see him as a person before a genius, think his personality is nothing more than the bullshit front he puts up. Mark is—well, he is Eduardo’s best friend. To the degree that someone becomes your best friend because you’re crushing on them.

“You didn’t mean the diversity thing,” Eduardo decides to focus on, because the rest of it makes little to no sense to him at all.

Mark purses his lips. “I—not really,” he says. “A little, because it’s the Phoenix, but.”

“But what?” Eduardo says immediately.

Mark turns away. “Can’t you read between the lines,” he mumbles.

And that just kind of locks everything else into place—Mark won’t tell him with words, but—“You’re jealous,” Eduardo realizes. When Mark doesn’t answer, only continuing to look more and more upset, Eduardo continues, “You’re jealous of… me getting punched by a final club and you weren't?"

"I'm not that juvenile," Mark says, in an unconvincing tone.

But Eduardo isn't done. "And because this is one more thing in my schedule that isn't your web project? You're jealous for my attention?"

“Not like—” Mark says immediately. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sober enough to have this conversation,” he says. “Yes.”

Eduardo laughs. He can’t help it—for someone who got a 1600 on his SATs, Mark can be incredibly stupid without realizing. Eduardo already knows that Mark had wanted to get their attention, to be recognized as someone special enough to be in an exclusive club, and Eduardo can't fault him for that. But for his attention—

Mark’s scowling at Eduardo's grin, but Eduardo says, “Mark, it’s a _final club_. That doesn’t mean I can’t—I don’t know what you want me to do with your web project yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be at your every beck and call.”

“So you will be at my every beck and call,” Mark says wryly.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. “I have priorities,” he says. His priorities are not necessarily Mark and his coding binges and ingenious creations, but they’re still somewhere up there. He still has schoolwork, of course, and so does Mark, and it’s only November and he’s wearing this sombrero and Hawaiian shirt and grinning at Mark, thinking, _I really like this guy_ , feeling warmth spreading through his fingers and toes not imbued by just the alcohol.

Mark looks at a slight loss. “Okay,” he says, after a second. “You—because, Wardo, this could be big.”

“I know,” Eduardo says with a smile, taking a sip of his drink again. The ice has melted, so he downs it quickly and scoops out another ladle of punch.

“Like… revolutionize Harvard big,” Mark says. His mood has swung back; there are stars in his eyes now, and he’s drinking and talking excitedly with rapid-fire control of his mouth. “I don’t really have any plans beyond that, but that’s the best part. Like, what if— _what if_ other schools notice the site? And they want to be a part of that exclusionary aspect too?”

“It’s pretty likely,” Eduardo replies. “MIT and BU already hate us.”

“BU,” Mark mutters scornfully, but barrels on. “And Cambridge College. Chris has friends down in Columbia, too—but I need to code first. Ugh.” His fingers twitch around his solo cup, and he tosses the rest of his drink back and makes a face. “Fuck. How long will it take me to walk back to Kirkland now?”

“Not any longer than it would regularly, I’d assume,” Eduardo says, amused. “Or you could stay here, Mark, you just came to me with this idea today.”

“Yeah, I know, I…” Mark’s fingers twitch again. His eyes dart back and forth around the room. “What music even is this?”

“Not Caribbean music, likely."

“God,” Mark says, and then pokes at Eduardo’s hat again. It still doesn’t make sense—Mark’s poking, when Mark is not a touchy person in general, Eduardo knows. “This whole party is ridiculous.”

“It is. Bathroom?” Eduardo says, because he’s probably drunk too much in the past several minutes, from Mark being emotionally available to his blue eyes glinting in the yellow light.

Mark pauses, but nods, setting his cup down on the table and then shuffling off to where the men’s room is. Eduardo follows him, realizing how truly gone he is with the way the room kind of swims around him as he walks. The other guys in here are wearing Hawaiian shirts, and really, _why?_ This isn’t even Eduardo’s; he’d borrowed it from Dustin for the occasion. Eduardo’s own clothes (that he’d actually come here wearing) are in a bag near the entrance.

Eduardo’s thoughts jumble, but Mark’s tufty curls are like corkscrews under the light and Eduardo thinks about what it would be like to run his hands through them. He quickly dispels the thought once they’re inside the restroom, since they’re inside the restroom and Eduardo _did_ come here on a mission. Plus, Mark is looking at him kind of expectantly, since Eduardo does need to piss.

“I’m thinking about names,” Mark says, and Eduardo realizes that Mark’s not expecting him to piss at all, only thinking about his website thing again. Eduardo does his business while Mark talks anyway. “And like, it’s just the idea of the centralized face book with all the houses anyways, so we can call it the facebook, right? It’s direct, not complicated, people know what it means—once we rent the servers for people to sign up, who knows how many will? 300 on the first day? Or maybe 400. I don’t want to off-shoot these estimations, though, let’s not think about it.”

Finishing up, Eduardo says, “I’m not thinking about it,” walking to the sink to rinse his hands. “You’re thinking too much about it, Mark, maybe ever think of that?” He’s grinning at him in the mirror though.

“I _have_ to, it’s big, it’s… it’s not even real yet,” Mark says. “God, you’re gonna have the Phoenix and I’m going to have the facebook and you’re going to have it too, it’s gonna be amazing.”

“It really is,” Eduardo says sincerely. He wipes his hands on a paper towel and thinks about asking Mark if he’s going to go, though Mark usually does if he needs to, anyway.

And under normal circumstances Eduardo would’ve led them out, anyway, except Mark has his hands shoved in his hoodie and looks all excited that Eduardo can’t help but go up to him, drinking up all his enthusiasm and energy, holding his gaze. “It’s gonna be amazing,” Eduardo says to him, “and _you’re_ amazing.”

Mark kisses him.

It is, frankly, the last thing Eduardo expected, considering Mark seems to be in his own computerized world all the time, or talks superficially about girls—usually one of the two, nothing in between, like kissing your best friend in the men’s room of a rec center. And also considering that Mark tastes like punch and tequila and his hands are still in his pockets so he’s just reaching up to Eduardo’s mouth with his own, a weird combination of force and hesitance like he’s not sure if he’s aiming correctly, because Eduardo had just been standing in front of him and beaming at him like best friends do, and—

Well, what the fuck, clearly Mark doesn’t like him in solely that _best friends_ way and who is Eduardo to complain? Eduardo’s hands grip Mark’s jaw, and before he knows it he is kissing back, harshly, thrusting his tongue between Mark’s teeth and against his own, and Mark lets out this ragged groan between their lips that goes straight to Eduardo’s dick.

“Fuck,” Mark breathes between them, and that’s what gets Eduardo to jump back. Mark’s cheeks are flushed—exponentially more than before, now a bright red on his cheeks and slipping below the collar of his hoodie and t-shirt—and his lips are bright, tauntingly crimson. He’s licking and biting his lips and Eduardo isn’t sure if he had just done that, if this is _really_ happening.

Mark watches him for a moment, but Eduardo knows that the want is spreading all over his body, and if Mark continues looking at him like that—“We’re drunk,” Eduardo declares, like that’s gonna stop anything.

“We’re both drunk,” Mark echoes. Counters. Whatever. “And you’re wearing a fucking sombero.”

“You already said that,” Eduardo says. He is still wearing his sombrero.

Mark steps forward this time, leans in again—his hand is on Eduardo’s cheek, and Eduardo has to give in, fuck, Mark kissing him like he really doesn’t need to do anything else, nothing but code his facebook project and kiss Eduardo like the website’s life depends on it. Eduardo presses back, hands finding Mark’s hips, trying not to actually rut on him—then Mark shifts, making Eduardo’s hands drop lower, and fuck. That is Mark’s ass. That is Mark’s ass on the underside of his palms, and Mark moans into Eduardo’s mouth as Eduardo is doing nothing but touching him there, and _Jesus_.

“I didn’t know you were turned on by my sombrero,” Eduardo mutters, and it’s a surprise that no one has come in yet. Though they’re probably all turning in early or hoping to get laid soon enough to come in.

Mark laughs, sounding more like a giggle hyped up on alcohol and their hazy kissing. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, and Eduardo’s hands find their way under Mark’s shirt. Mark hisses; his skin is warm already, though Eduardo’s hands are generally cold, which Mark seems to take as a challenge because he kisses Eduardo again, hard, and says, “We should go into a stall.”

And that sounds like the most excellent idea ever. “Yeah,” Eduardo says, yanking them back and dragging them into the first one. He’s barely slammed the stall door shut when Mark drags their mouths back together, grinding back against the wall, making Eduardo press him against it—or maybe Eduardo is pushing him against the cool metal wall of his own volition, it’s hard to tell anymore. His hands are creeping all up Mark’s shirt, making Mark shudder and giggle in turn—he’s _ticklish_ , Eduardo realizes belatedly, and tweaks a nipple, earning a laugh-gasp into his own mouth.

“Fuck, Mark,” Eduardo says despite himself, and Mark says, “Please.” And, shit, but Mark is twisting his hips against Eduardo in his jeans and maybe Eduardo is imagining things but is he hard? Eduardo bites at Mark’s jaw, kissing and sucking down to his collarbone, all the while undoing the front of Mark’s jeans and shoving his hand in there—Mark gasps, and yeah, he’s fucking hard.

Eduardo whispers, “Fuck,” twisting Mark in his grip, and it’s kind of dry and bound to be uncomfortable but Mark moans, anyway. Eduardo takes his hand out and tugs the rest of Mark’s jeans and boxers down, so that his entire lower half is stark naked—and Mark doesn’t care, just goes for Eduardo’s shorts and begins to undo the button and zip for him too. “You look ridiculous,” Mark says, hands jostling, and his voice is hoarse and there’s a buzz in Eduardo’s body, hot. “I can’t believe I want you to fuck me while you look like this.”

“I can’t believe I want to fuck you wearing a Gap hoodie,” Eduardo says, but he’s laughing, too, kind of incredulously. “Mark, I—”

“Hold on,” Mark says, sinking to the floor.

And then he’s squatting, because it’s the smart thing to do when his pants and boxers are around his ankles, but then his mouth is on Eduardo’s dick and holy fuck. The alcohol is really getting to Eduardo’s head now; Mark’s eyes are half-lidded as he sucks Eduardo’s cock, hallowing his cheeks in and out, lips so filthy red it’s the hottest thing Eduardo’s ever seen. His plush tongue dances at the head of Eduardo’s cock, sucking him in like velvet, and it’s not perfect because Mark kind of salivates like he’s hungry for Eduardo’s cock that it actually gets kind of sloppy around his lips, but Eduardo is _not_ complaining.

Eduardo yanks him up before it’s too much, because at this rate he’s not really sure if he could warn Mark before he came. “We should,” Eduardo starts, then, “You said you wanted me to fuck you.”

“Yeah, but—” Mark’s gaze is dark, and he’s kind of pouting like he wants to go back to giving Eduardo a blowjob again.

Eduardo wouldn’t exactly protest, but he also had condoms and lube in his pocket that he’d taken out before Mark managed to get his shorts down. Mark looks at him suspiciously, but Eduardo smiles and says, “I’m always prepared.”

“Always prepared for what,” Mark mumbles, as Eduardo opens the packing.

“Always prepared for my best friend to get punch-drunk on one of his ingenious ideas and then ask me to fuck him,” Eduardo says, lubing himself up and then sliding between Mark’s thighs with his still-wet fingers.

It’s quick work, getting Mark to relax—it’s probably not even necessary, with how much Mark moans for it, opens up for him, that Eduardo moans too, needing to be inside Mark—he’s so fucking hot and tight around Eduardo’s finger, it’s insane. He’s twitching all over and Eduardo wants to slip in another, but Mark says, “Jesus, Eduardo, your cock, _right now_ ,” and if that isn’t the hottest thing Eduardo’s ever heard in his life that Eduardo isn’t going to do as he’s asked, then—

Then, trembling but grinning, down at Mark whose eyes are dark and off-center but eager, Eduardo slides into Mark and Mark moans, jamming their mouths back together, hitching himself up against the stall door—and there’s not a lot of room for Eduardo to really push in, so he has to hold Mark up by the hips, thighs, knees—Mark actually helps him raise the rest of his body up against the wall, until his feet aren’t even on the fucking ground and his thighs are spread so wide. The space in the stall is claustrophobic and cramped but it doesn’t matter, because Eduardo is fucking into him, sliding in and out, the air hot and delicious around them, a thrumming edge searing beneath his skin and through his veins. He’s still wearing the Hawaiian shirt and the straw sombrero which keeps bumping into the wall and the only other sound around them is he and Mark groaning into each other’s mouths, his balls slapping against Mark’s skin and Mark moaning for it, especially when Eduardo shifts the angle and Mark laugh-gasps with his tongue in Eduardo’s mouth, holy fuck. Eduardo fucks him faster and Mark’s mouth slips; Mark whispers, “Wardo, please,” against his chin and Eduardo ignores him, biting at his jaw and thrusting harder.

His arms are straining with Mark’s weight and he’s nuzzling into Mark’s skin, biting and licking and fucking _sniffing_ him that Eduardo feels like he’s going to come any second. Mark’s trying so hard to get himself off between their bodies but the space is too tight; Mark is saying his name over and over again and Eduardo takes pity, he brings his chest away to get his hand around Mark’s cock, absolutely dripping with precome, fucking him deep, sliding his own cock in and out with the way his fist works on Mark’s. Mark comes with a stifled noise in his throat, biting down on his lip and spurting all over Eduardo’s hand. Eduardo watches heavily as Mark shudders through it, then he looks up at Eduardo with his bright blue eyes and kisses him, clenching and grinding down on Eduardo’s cock and it’s all over,

Eduardo’s breath catches as he grunts and groans, hips jerking as he comes deep in Mark with Mark’s tongue sliding against his. Mark kisses him through it, legs slowly sinking back to the floor as Eduardo pants against him, barely breathing as the residuals of his orgasm shake out of him. By the time Eduardo’s head, and the rest of his senses come down, Mark has withdrawn and is watching him openly.

Eduardo lets out a little laugh and knocks his forehead down on Mark’s shoulder. “God,” he says, head still feeling light.

“Something like that,” Mark says airily. There’s a half-assed pat on his back, and Eduardo laughs again. “I’m not wearing shoes,” comes Mark’s voice.

Eduardo opens his eyes; his head is already inclined downward, and he can see that Mark indeed sock-footed on the tile ground, flip-flops placed absently elsewhere in the stall. “You mean flip-flops,” Eduardo says, pulling back.

Mark rolls his eyes. “Flip-flops are shoes,” he says, finding them and slipping them back on. He yanks his likely loosened out jeans and boxers back on; Eduardo had discarded his on the floor a while ago. “I’m counting this as celebratory sex,” Mark adds.

His gaze is still slightly misdirected in that drunken way, but Eduardo’s inhibitions feel still above his skin, too, so he just giggles and says, “What do you mean?”

“For thefacebook,” Mark says. “And when it launches, we’ll have—um—we’ll do this too. And when we hit a hundred members. Then five hundred. Then our first interview—”

“Stop,” Eduardo says, but he’s grinning. “Slow down, we just—I don’t know what we just had—”

“Celebratory sex,” Mark says again.

“If you say so.”

Eduardo gets his clothes back on, straightening them up, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe the cum stain on his Hawaiian shirt, though it doesn’t really help—“Fuck, this is Dustin’s,” he says out loud.

Mark snickers. “You probably shouldn’t give it back.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Eduardo says. Mark continues smirking and Eduardo can’t help it, either; Mark looks so free and happy, for _once_ , that Eduardo says, “What are you so happy about?” without really meaning it.

Mark tries to push his smile down and says, “I’m not,” but his attempt ultimately fails. The corners of his lips peek through his cheek muscles, dimpling.

Eduardo throws his head back and laughs. “Well, I’m happy because we just had sex and you have this brilliant plan to change Harvard forever,” he says, and he feels outside of his body now because of the adrenaline, of the booze, of _Mark_.

“And you’ll be getting into the Phoenix,” Mark says sincerely.

There’s no venom behind it, now; he sounds so earnest that despite everything else, Eduardo’s heart feels fuller than before. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “And I’ll be getting into the Phoenix, hopefully.”

“It’s possible,” Mark says, and makes his way out of the stall. “The facebook is more important, of course—”

“Of course, Mark.”

“I’m just saying,” Mark says, as Eduardo follows him back out. The restroom reeks of sex but Eduardo can’t find himself caring that much; Mark is back to rattling off his ingenuity that Eduardo can’t think of anything to complain about right now. “We’re going to have lots of sex, the facebook will change Harvard, and whether or not you get into the Phoenix will be a bonus.”

“We _will_ have lots of sex,” Eduardo agrees, grinning. “And I might get into the Phoenix, but who cares?”

Mark glances at him, mouth still slanted into that smile—and Eduardo’s not looking into the mirror, but if he was he’d see someone who wants him and needs him as a best friend, as something more.

Eduardo is too busy beaming back at Mark though, and bumps into him as they leave the restroom, hair rumpled, looking very obviously like they’d just fucked. They head back to their friends and the party, giving themselves away, side by side.

And in this world, that makes all the difference.

**Author's Note:**

> (this was supposed to be a pwp I swear)  
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/profile) **[aroceu](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/)** : hoenstly i just like  
> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/profile) **[aroceu](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/)** : imagine them in the dim light of the bathroom, pants pooled aroudn their ankles, eduardo fucking mark at an angle against the stall wall wwhile still wearing his sutpid caribbean night getup  
> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/profile) **[aroceu](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/)** : which is esentially what i wrote anyway  
> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Flips_and_Quips/profile) **[Flips_and_Quips](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Flips_and_Quips/)** : AND THEY'RE EITHER PRETTY LOUD OR THEY'RE TRYING THEIR HARDEST TO BE QUIET BUT THEY'RE STILL PRETTY BUZZED SO IT'S PROBABLY A MIX OF BOTH


End file.
